ROOM 254

The old man awakened when he felt his hospital bed rolling through a large open doorway. The long narrow ward that he had shared with nine other men of various ages had been his home for the past ten or eleven days, but he couldn’t remember which, since he had been asleep most of his stay. A male orderly was pushing his bed while another one managed the battery powered IV pump, to ensure the designated saline solution was dripping into his old, worn out, cancer ridden body. When the bed rolled to a stop at the elevator, the men began chatting. From what the old man could discern, they were both about the same age, early 30’s, had similar hairdos and facial hair, the fashion being a three-to-five-day old beard. He couldn’t quite hear all their conversation but from the little information he could glean, they were talking about a pretty nurse they wouldn’t mind getting their hands on.

When the elevator dinged its arrival and the oversized door slid open with a hiss, the orderly rolled his bed inside. Because he was lying down, his head barely propped up, he wasn’t able to see which button had been pressed but as the elevator descended, he slowly counted off the floors...5...4...3...until it came to a halt on the second floor. He felt a little relieved that it hadn’t continued to the basement, next stop hell, because his doctor had given him only ten to fourteen days to live.

To occupy his mind as the bed rolled down a long hallway around a corner and then along another equally long hallway, he counted the overhead ceiling lights, eventually giving up after reaching 38. When the bed came to a halt outside a doorway, he glimpsed the forest-green number 254 lettered on a creamy colored plaque. As soon as the bed had been positioned facing two large windows overlooking a parking lot, the IV pump plugged into an electric outlet, he was told if he needed anything, to press the big red button attached to the side of his bed. Gazing around the room, attempting to get his bearings, he realized the main difference from the ward and where he was staying now, is that he was alone. However, unlike some people, he was more than content to be alone.

Shortly after the old man’s arrival at Room 254, a male nurse entered and cheerfully said, “Hi. My name is Norton, I’ll be one of the nurses caring for you during your stay with us.”

The old man nodded and then began coughing; his face turning almost purple. As he held his hand over his mouth to contain whatever was being expelled from his sickly body, the nurse, noticing his predicament, quickly came to his aid and handed him a small box of tissues. When he had ceased the incessant hacking, wiped the phlegm and blood off his face and chin, the nurse took the used tissues and tossed them into a waste container. Then, handing the old man a Styrofoam cup filled with ice water, the nurse said, “Here. Have a sip. It should help take the taste away and hopefully make you feel a little better.”

The old man nodded, did as requested, then gruffly replied, “Thanks. I feel better now.”

“In that case, I’ll continue with my rounds, but I’ll be back real soon to check on you. Besides, I’d like to discuss something with you and drop off some literature to read.”

As soon as the nurse left, the old man wondered, ‘during your stay, drop off some literature’? Where the hell does he think I am, at some luxury seaside resort, sitting beside a pool sipping a Margarita?

Feeling tears welling up at the corners of his eyes and then sliding down his cheeks, most likely caused by his coughing episode, the old man slowly brushed them away with his liver-spotted hand. Noticing the tattoo on the lower portion of his arm, as hard as he tried, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what the image once looked like, since all the colors had bled together over the years. He didn’t think the tattoo had any real meaning and surmised it had probably occurred during one of his countless drunken sprees when he had been much younger and wilder. Glancing around the room at his surroundings, he noticed a clipboard containing several sheets of blank paper and a ballpoint pen lying on a narrow table that had four wheels attached to it. Since he was very close to his inevitable death and feeling very weak, it took all his strength to reach out and pull the table closer. When he finally had the pen and paper in hand and caught his breath from the exertion, he began writing:

To Whom It May Concern…

After the old man finished writing a short note, he fell into a deep sleep and didn’t awaken until he heard footsteps approaching his room. Dreading it was the male nurse, he feigned sleeping until the footsteps began receding down the corridor. As he lay propped up in bed, he began thinking about the day he arrived at the hospital. Realizing it would be the last day he would ever step foot in his home, a small one-bedroom apartment that he had rented for many years, he had made a list of the things he wanted to do:

1. Watch my favorite movie Pulp Fiction

2. Get all dolled up in my $2,200. suit

3. Visit some friends at the pool hall

4. Buy the most expensive cigar I can find

5. Sit on my favorite park bench

6. Have a very expensive meal at a fancy restaurant

While remembering one of the most pleasant days he had ever enjoyed for a long time, Norton suddenly walked into his room and said, “Ah, you’re awake now. Time for your meds.”

As soon as the old man swallowed his pills, Norton smiled broadly and pulled up a chair next to the bed and continued, “Now we can have a little chat, and as promised, I brought you a little something to read and consider.”

The old man didn’t know what it was about the nurse. Although he seemed helpful and cheerful, he somehow detected a coldness concerning his demeanor. As the nurse prattled on about dying, heaven and the church he belonged to, it wasn’t until he said, “When the time for your passing is very near, there are people I know who would like to comfort you and make it easier; make sure that you won’t be alone at the end,” that the old man rather vehemently piped up, “Now looky here Mr. goody-two-shoes, I want to make this perfectly clear! I don’t want no bloody church people of any denomination around me when I take my last breath!”

“But…but...” exclaimed the nurse.

“But nothin’! You heard me! I wanna be alone! The way I figure it, even though I’ve been a bastard much of my life, done a whole lot of unforgivable things, if a Big Guy in the sky actually exists and I’m dead for eternity, I’m certain He’ll eventually get around to dealin’ with the likes of me.”

“But if you don’t believe in the Lord and ask for forgiveness, you won’t be able to get into the Holy Kingdom.”

Not wanting to get into a long religious argument, the old man gruffly roared, “You’re not listening to me Norton! Now get the fuck out of here and leave me in peace!”

As the disgruntled nurse was leaving Room 254 at a rather rapid pace, almost tripping over himself, he was thinking, what a foulmouthed, blasphemous, rude old man. When he reached the nurse’s station he smiled smugly and thought, oh well, so be it, he’ll most likely burn in hell.

The old man hadn’t meant to be so abrupt and vulgar with the nurse, but some people had skulls thicker than a big old oak tree, and in this final stage of his life, his patience was at an all time low. However, as quickly as his anger had erupted, it vanished. The combination of meds soon taking over, he fell asleep, sleep, his constant companion and liberator from pain.

He was awakened around 5pm by the arrival of his supper. He had barely eaten anything since being admitted to the hospital, so his dinner remained where it had been placed; untouched. Dozing in and out of sleep, it wasn’t until he heard the evening announcement over the loudspeaker, “It’s now quiet time, the time for all activities to cease and for guests to leave,” he became fully awake. As his room darkened, able to see a partial sunset through the windows, he remembered there had been times when approaching darkness filled him with fear; wondering if he would survive the night to see another day. But now, as he lay in bed, oncoming darkness filling the room with calmness, he was unafraid. Preferring the world of dreams to the actual world of reality, he soon fell asleep until he was awakened around 3am by someone softly crying in another room, a woman’s voice. He wished that he could comfort her, but he was too weak to even crawl out of bed, let alone walk to another room. However, as the sobbing continued, the least he figured he could do was ask, “What seems to be the matter?”

The sobbing suddenly stopped, a small voice sifting into his room said, “What did you say?”

“I was asking if you were alright.”

“I’m fine,” she responded. “I’m alone and feeling a little sorry for myself. That’s all. Sorry to bother you.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for. Probably none of us expected to wind up like this at the end.” Oops, shouldn’t have said that he thought. She might not be dying like me.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said.

Considering the soon to be big eternal sleep he said, “No problem. I’d sooner be awake than asleep and if I was able, I’d come and see you. Have a short visit. Sometimes, all a person needs is a little company.”

The woman thought about the old man’s last remark and thinking she was a bit brazen, decided what the hell and asked, “Would you mind very much if I came to see you? Just a very short visit mind you. I wouldn’t want to put you out or keep you awake.”

Why not thought the old man, besides, it might help her get through the night. “Sure,” he said and in the most cheerful voice he could muster up added, “That would be really nice.”

“No hanky-panky now,” she giggled.

“No fear of that at this point in my life. I couldn’t outrun my own fart.”

Giggling again she said, “That’s too bad.”

“The fart you mean?”

“No. The hanky-panky.”

“Well…before you come to visit, I should tell you something about myself.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m a black man.”

“For goodness sake; what’s that got to do with anything unless you don’t like white women? Because believe you me, I’m like Snow White, only a whole lot whiter and older; I’ve got wrinkles on my wrinkles.”

“Sounds like we were made for each other; get your old, white wrinkly ass over here,” he chuckled.

The old lady laughed. “Hang on then,” she said. “Like you, I can’t outrun my own fart either. It’ll take me a while to get out of bed and grab my walker. Which room are you in?”

“Room 254.”

The old man could hear her wheezing as she slowly pulled off the covers, sat up and as she slid her skinny legs over the edge of the bed, she panted, “Who would have thought it would be so difficult getting out of bed?”

When the old lady finally caught her breath, he could hear her walker as she slowly and laboriously pushed it across her room and into the corridor.

“I have to stop for a bit,” she panted. “Or I won’t make it to your room.”

“Take your time,” he said. “You’re doing better than me. I doubt very much that I could get out of bed or if I did, they’d find me passed out on the floor in the morning.”

After a few moments had passed, he heard her shuffling across the hallway until she finally stood in the doorway to catch her breath. If he had just awakened from a sleep, he’d have thought he had died and gone to heaven because the way her hospital gown and long silver hair was backlit by the hall lights; she looked like an angel.

As soon as she was able to walk again, she proceeded towards his bed, the old man managing to skooch over to the other side so she would have room to sit down.

“That’s one of the hardest things I’ve done in a long while,” she panted. “I’m really exhausted. Do you mind if I lie down beside you? There’s no way I’ll be able to walk back to my room.”

Lifting up the covers, the old man smiled and said, “Be my guest.”

When she was comfortably pressed up against his chest, he put his arm around her and was surprised when she took his hand and held it to her chest.

“Thank you,” she said. “This feels so good. It’s just what I needed.”

Neither one spoke for some time, just enjoying their togetherness. Then she precociously asked, “Is it true what they say about black men?”

Wondering where this conversation was headed, he answered somewhat inquisitively, “What do you mean?”

She giggled. “You know what I mean…that you’re...you know, you’ve got a big…” and then she giggled again.

Catching the old woman’s drift, he laughed and said, “Promise you won’t tell anyone. It’s a myth. Like any other man, some have teeny-weeny wieners and others are hung like a horse.”

While they were both laughing, the old man suddenly heard her gasp, felt her whole-body tense and then go completely limp. Having fought in Viet Nam, he had come to know the sounds and reactions of men taking their last breath; the old woman lying beside him was dead. Holding her gently and after kissing her lightly on the side of her neck he said, “Safe journey my beautiful lady.”

Instead of immediately buzzing for someone to take the old woman's body away, the old man continued holding her in his arms until he fell asleep.

Before long, he was rudely awakened by the male nurse bellowing, “There you are Mrs. Stephens! I’ve been looking for you everywhere! What are you doing here with this filthy old man? You should be ashamed of yourself!”

The old man raised his big fist, the fist that years ago had broken a jailer’s jaw in three places with a single punch and yelled, “Don’t you know that it takes an old soul longer to depart a decrepit old body! Show some respect! Now get the fuck out of here mother fucker before I pound your fuckin’ head to pulp!”

The nurse, taken aback by the old man’s intimidating outburst, backed out of the room. His eyes fuming with defiance he said, “I’ll be back with some orderlies. You can’t get away with something like this.”

As the old man listened to the nurse’s footsteps retreating down the hallway, he muttered under his breath, “Samuel L. Jackson couldn’t have told that mother fucker to fuck off any better than me.”

It wasn’t long before the nurse returned with two orderlies and a doctor. When they entered the room, the doctor said in a calm voice, “Mister…er…” Not getting any response he turned to the nurse and asked, “What’s his name?”

“We don’t know his name. He was brought here by ambulance after he apparently passed out and struck his head on the sidewalk. Besides being in the latter stage of cancer, he has amnesia and can’t recall who he is or where he was living.”

The doctor thought that the two people looked as if they were sleeping peacefully. As he cautiously approached the bed, since he had heard the screaming outburst between the nurse and the patient, he was expecting the old man to strike out. However, after no response or resistance, he took the old woman’s pulse confirming she was indeed dead. Still thinking the situation appeared somewhat odd; he reached across the old woman and checked the old man’s pulse. He was dead too. It had probably taken the last bit of strength he possessed to chase the nurse off. Chuckling to himself, he reckoned the old guy must have been one tough dude in his day. The doctor was about to leave, give instructions to the orderlies and write out the official time of deaths until he noticed a bit of paper sticking out of the old man’s clenched fist.

“What’s this?” he declared as he pried the piece of paper from the old man’s hand. After carefully unfolding the paper he read:

To Whom It May Concern…I don’t have amnesia. My name is Jax Cotton and I live or lived at Apt. 403, 1249 East Parker St. You’ll find my wallet with my ID on the kitchen table. I apologize if I was too much of a problem. I faked everything except the gash on my head; it was a great touch; nothing like a little blood to make my fake accident look more real. The unexpected call for the ambulance by the waitress, who I had just given probably the largest tip she ever received, was also a nice touch. I saved up a lot of money to buy a very expensive suit because being black, especially in this State, I wanted to look like a somebody and not a nobody when I was lying on the sidewalk. I’d like to thank everyone who took care of me, except for one nurse who shall go unnamed.

Respectively yours – Jax Cotton

EPILOGUE

When the necessary authorities arrived at Jax Cotton’s apartment, not only did they discover his wallet containing a few photos of his wife and two young daughters who had been killed in an automobile accident, but they also found several medals for bravery, including a purple heart, on the kitchen table. His prison records proclaimed he had almost killed a man when he defended a fellow inmate from being savagely beaten by a guard.